Gameplan
by studentnumber24601
Summary: [Finished!] Baseball, Kid said slowly, horrified against his will, is not homoerotic. [Contains slash, angst, and baseball. For Blink Week.]
1. I

[Newsies belongs to Disney. Though I'd love to borrow them for my birthday.]

_[Gameplan]_

I.

Kid looked at himself in the mirror.

What was odd, he noted as he tried a smirk on to see how it looked, was that he felt more effeminate, staring in the mirror trying to look masculine. He frowned and fingered the gold chain around his neck lightly. It had been years since he'd taken it off, he habitually wore it, even in the shower; it was just a simple gold chain with a small charm shaped like the number two hanging on it.

But...

He unclasped it and set it on the bathroom counter, and stared at himself some more.

He looked, he decided, pretty good. Coca-cola logo t-shirt, loose jeans, old, beat-up sneakers.

The eyepatch. He reached up to take it off, then let his hand drop. It wasn't like jewelry. People couldn't tell him only girls wore eyepatches, because no one wore eyepatches. And going out without it would have felt like going outside naked. He'd have been all paranoid and uncomfortable all day, convinced people were staring at him.

Which they probably would be.

Worse, he added. Worse than they'd stare at the new kid on his first day anyway.

So the eyepatch stayed, and he reached for his hat. Dark blue, light grey logo, fairly well worn. He put it on carefully, backwards, and tried not to mess up his hair.

He examined himself again, tried to think of how he looked from the perspective of someone his age, someone who didn't know him. He looked... Well, like a jock. But not a _real_ jock, not someone whose main passion in life was sports. That was why he hadn't gone for the Nike t-shirt. He wanted to come across as athletic, but able to fit into any clique, really. The new kid people would want to talk to, not the one who'd be stuck with the first two people he met until he graduated.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at himself, really looked.

He looked okay. Normal. Not terribly attractive; not ugly, though, by any stretch. Just a normal kid like anyone else in a crowded school hall.

Definitely not gay.

He cast a glance at his discarded necklace, then back in the mirror, then turned and walked out of the bathroom. The Yankees logo reflected back at him until he turned the light off.

*

The school was large, and overwhelming, and filled with people who already knew each other, already had friends, and didn't look at Kid as anything other than a new kid who wore an eyepatch. But he kind of expected that; after all, he'd seen new kids before, back at his old school, where he had an established group of friends. No one ever bothered to go talk to whoever was new, because they didn't need to. They already had people to talk to.

Two and a half years of friendships for nothing. Spring semester junior year, and he was suddenly the one on the outside. Kid stared out at the cafeteria, with it's clearly established cliques sitting around what were, doubtlessly, their regular tables, and sighed.

Time to bite the bullet and sit by himself.

Green plastic tray in hand, he drifted through the noisy lunch room and looked around for an empty table, and finally saw one near the back. He set his bag and his tray down and sat, reaching up unconsciously to feel for the charm that wasn't around his neck. He let his hand drop and stared down at the food. Somehow, it didn't do anything to make him feel better, though it _did_ look marginally better than the food at his old school.

That was the feeling he'd gotten from this stupid new school. High school was high school, teenagers were teenagers, but here they had a bit more money to throw around. The teachers all had master's degrees, the text books were up to date, and the sports teams were almost disgustingly funded.

Kid didn't like sitting alone at the lunch table, but the thought of the school's baseball team almost made him salivate. And their team was good, too; his family had done research when they'd decided he should switch schools. The team always was in the top five in the state.

And if Kid could make the team...

He decided to think of it the other way around, as he poked at his lunch. If he _didn't_ make the baseball team, he'd get skinned alive at home and have to deal with lecture after lecture about how much the school cost, how much his car cost, how much gas money for his car to get him to school cost, and what the hell was the point if he wasn't even on the team?

So he'd make the team, then.

It wasn't like they'd given him much of a choice.

"Um... Hey."

Kid looked up abruptly; someone was standing at the table, looking confused. Then he did a double take, because said someone was male, and _beautiful._ Light brown skin, brown eyes, perfect curly hair, and all topped off with a lavender button down shirt and slightly flared jeans. Most boys couldn't pull of lavender ever, let alone with girly looking jeans.

Kid told himself to stop thinking like that _immediately,_ thought of the necklace he wasn't wearing, and said, "Hey."

"Uh... This is where I always sit."

"Oh, sorry." Kid shrugged and smiled sheepishly. "I'm new."

"I figured. Can I sit?"

He nodded, and let out a breath. "Kind of relieved to not be sitting alone, honestly."

"Well, I'm not exactly the best company."

"You seem fine so far."

The boy raised an eyebrow, but kind of smirked, and Kid tried very hard not to find it attractive.

"Uh... My name's Kid."

"I'm so sorry."

He laughed and reminded himself very firmly that there were more important things than boys in the world, and thought of the extremely well funded baseball team. "It's a family name," he said, by way of explanation.

"Ah, got it. Of the it-sucks-but-is-unavoidable variety?"

"Yep." Kid cleared his throat. "So... What's yours?"

"Michael. Um, Meyers. Michael Meyers."

"Well... I'm so sorry," Kid answered.

"Yeah, I know. I swear, if I ever hear anyone mention Wayne Campbell, Austin Powers or _Saturday Night Live_ again..."

"Promise not to," Kid said.

"Well, good then." Michael turned to his meal, and Kid turned to his and decided the safest thing to do was to not look up at Michael.

Michael didn't look at him either, though, he noticed. Because he couldn't help but look.

And Michael also tore through his food, then got up and left Kid alone at the table without saying goodbye. He put his tray away, got a pass from the lady at the edge of the room with the passbook, and disappeared down a hallway.

Kid swallowed hard, choking down food he didn't even taste.

Probably, just as well.

*

Other than the beautiful Michael, the high point of Kid's day was gym class. Kid wasn't _exactly_ a jock; his family obsession with baseball aside, Kid could really have taken or left sports. Football seemed pointless, hockey too bloody, soccer bored him to tears, and basketball did nothing for him. Baseball, though...

The gym teacher was an overweight man named Coach Bernstein. And the first thing he'd asked Kid, upon discovering there was a new kid in his class, was if he played sports.

"I play a little baseball," Kid had said modestly.

"Yeah? Where do you play?"

"Where do you need me?" He shrugged. "I've played kind of everywhere."

"Yeah?"

Kid nodded.

"Where are you best?"

"Catching or shortstop," he answered automatically.

"Can you hit?"

"Switch-hitter, yeah."

"Are you any _good?"_

And so Blink had said yes, and trotted out the stats from his last season.

Coach Bernstein had nodded and asked for his phone number. There had been a call waiting for him by the time he'd made the fifty minute trek home in his too-expensive new car.

*

Kid slid into place at the new school slowly but naturally. It started with gym class, and people finding out he was a baseball player; eventually a couple of guys on the baseball team talked to him some about the sport, and one kid—Jack Kelly—had started trash talking the Yankees, which had lead to a rather heated argument, and somewhere in between yelling that damn it, Derek Jeter _deserved_ that kind of money, it wasn't _buying_ championships, it was team building, and comparing memories of the awe of seeing their favorite team on the field _in person_ the first time, Kid found he had a group of friends.

Jack Kelly was about the closest one, but there were a few others who went with him, seemingly everywhere he went. They called him Cowboy, and he'd given them all nicknames too—things like Specs and Skittery and Bumlets—and eventually, Jack had started calling him Blink, because of his eye. Kid had shown them his eye one day in study hall, after a few days of being pestered about it; and as always when he took the eyepatch off, people were freaked out.

But having done it once, gotten it out of the way, he didn't have to do it anymore. And after that, he was Kid Blink, potential baseball player, and he couldn't wait to try out.

The downside of having a group of friends was that Michael wasn't one of them. He only had one class with Michael—history—and they sat on opposite sides of the room. And now having friends, Kid no longer sat alone at the lunch table, though he noticed that Michael did. Every day. He sat down, wolfed down lunch, and hurried out of the cafeteria.

Kid wondered why, but didn't think too much about it. Michael was definitely more attractive than any of his friends, but he wasn't at school to develop a new crush; he couldn't let things get in his way.

His family kept reminding him of how single minded he had to be, if he wanted to play professionally. He had to get good grades, he had to weight train all through the off season, and if he didn't make the team, there'd be hell to pay.

So instead of staring at Michael across the room in history class, he stared down at his Yankees Student Planner, because one of the odd things about Kid was that if there was a product out there with the Yankees logo or Derek Jeter's face on it, he probably owned it.

Kid had been at the school for three weeks when the history teacher announced they'd be doing projects in pairs to prepare for their upcoming unit exam; making posters and giving a presentation on that unit's various topics. His name was at the end of the list for partner choices, because he was new and instead of alphabetical, it was written in at the end. But as the teacher read down the list and asked who students would like a partners, he wasn't chosen; he only had two friends in the class, and they worked with each other.

She read off names and made notes in her book, and Kid sighed and waited to be paired up at random, because that was what would happen to students without partners. At least until, "Michael... Michael, who do you want for your partner?"

Michael shrugged. "Whoever," he said.

"Who wants to be Michael's partner?" the teacher said to the room at large.

No on spoke up, one of the students snickered, and Michael rolled his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. He didn't look disappointed, Kid thought. Just kind of disgusted.

Kid cleared his throat and raised his hand. "Um... I will," he said.

"Oh, well, good!" the teacher chirped.

Kid looked across the room at Michael, who was studying him right back. Kid fought to keep down the slight blush that wanted to be creeping across his cheeks, and Michael raised an eyebrow. Kid shrugged.

The teacher told everyone to partner up and get to work, and Kid walked quickly across the room to sit at the now vacated desk next to Michael.

"You want to work with me?" Michael asked, sounding a bit surprised.

"I... I dunno, I didn't want to not have anyone to work with," Kid answered.

"Yeah, well... Thanks, I guess."

"Sure. Um..." He looked down at the project guidelines they'd been given and saw their topic was 'leisure and lifestyle of the 1900-1910.'

"Did we even cover this?" Michael asked.

Kid didn't even think before speaking. "The Yankees were founded in 1903."

"Um... Well, that's a start." Michael gave him a weird look. "Why do you know that?"

"I dunno. They're my favorite team."

"What do they play?"

Kid stared at him.

He knew it wasn't polite to stare, and somewhere in the back of his mind that registered, but the politeness his mother had trained into him failed him at the realization that someone didn't just know who the Yankees were, he literally knew nothing about baseball. Kid hadn't realized people like that _existed._

"Baseball," he said finally. "They're a... really famous baseball team. They've won more world championships than... Than any other team in any sport."

"Oh." Michael didn't sound too interested. "So I guess we're gonna have to go look up some information."

"Yeah, I guess," Kid answered, trying to get over the shock that someone hadn't heard of the Yankees.

Michael raised his hand and asked if they could go to the library, and the teacher wrote them out a pass; as they started out of the room, Jack—working with Skittery—grabbed Kid's sleeve and stopped him. He glanced at Michael, who rolled his eyes. "I'll meet you there," he said and walked out.

Kid looked over at Jack, who raised an eyebrow. "You wanted to work with him?"

"I didn't want to have no one to work with," he said again. "Why? What's wrong with Michael?"

Jack and Skittery exchanged glances. "He's a fag, Blink."

Kid blink, well, blinked. "Oh," he said.

"You didn't know?"

"No."

"Oh, well." Jack shrugged. "Guess you're stuck with him now."

"Guess so."

"Sucks to be you," Skittery put in.

Kid shrugged. "Then I'd better go... Get this over with."

"Good luck," Jack said disdainfully, and Kid walked out of the room, his head spinning slightly.

Michael, who was so gorgeous, but who didn't know who the Yankees were, was _gay._ And Kid's own friends saw that as a reason to avoid him. That, Kid thought, was not good at all.

But still, he walked into the library, and saw Michael standing by the rack of encyclopedias. "Hey," he said.

"You actually came?"

"I... We have this project to do, why wouldn't I?"

"Kelly didn't..."

Kid shrugged. "He told me you're gay."

"Oh."

"Are you?" Blink asked. He knew how rumors could go, get blown up, and then never really blow _over._ He'd been through it. There was no reason to assume it had been true; maybe Jack just didn't like Michael.

"Yes," Michael said matter-of-factly.

"Oh."

Well, then. Kid shoved his hands into his pockets. "Okay," he said. "So... About this project—"

"If it bothers you, then A, you can go to hell; and B, you can probably get reassigned to another partner. It's happened before."

"It doesn't bother me."

"Really?" Michael sounded skeptical.

"Really. It's... It's not a big deal or anything, is it?"

"Well..." Michael trailed off, then gave Kid a sort of a knowing smirk. "Don't you know? All of us gay kids, we're boy _crazy._ We just want to jump anything with a dick and legs."

Kid raised an eyebrow, and laughed. "And you all sing show tunes in the shower, right?"

"Oh, absolutely." Mush paused. "Wait, I actually do. Fuck you."

"Yeah, well... I sing along with the radio in the shower, so if that makes me gay..." He trailed off, and now he _was_ blushing.

But Michael laughed. "Oh, don't go and be _nice_ to me, now. Baseball players aren't allowed to be nice to guys like me, it'll just ruin your reputation."

"I've been here three weeks; I don't have a reputation to ruin."

"Well, it'll _get_ you a reputation. And not a good one, like you want. Besides," Michael said conspiratorially, "if you're _nice_ to me, I might get a crush on you. And what would you do then?"

"I dunno. Be flattered?"

That seemed to catch Michael off guard, and he stared. Then he broke into a wide grin, and Blink felt his heart rate speed up. Michael, he decided, had an amazing grin.

*

They had a week to complete the project. Friday afternoon, with the project due on Tuesday, Michael and Kid were walking through the hallways, discussing how to arrange their poster. Mostly, Michael was doing it, because Blink's hand-eye coordination stopped at sports, and he really had no artistic talent at all.

"Kid, hey, Kid!"

They stopped walking as Jack Kelly caught up with them.

"Hey, Jack," Kid said, and glanced at Michael, who leaned against the wall and didn't say anything. Kid looked away quickly; the way Michael was so casually posed, he looked amazing. But then, Michael always looked kind of amazing. Not that Kid thought about it.

"I'm having a party tomorrow. You wanna come?"

"Uh..." Kid glanced over at Michael again, thinking it was pretty impolite to invite one of them and not the other, when they were both standing right there. And anyway, he was supposed to get together with Michael on Saturday to work on their project. "What time?"

"Like... Four or five in the afternoon."

He was supposed to go to Michael's at three thirty. He bit his lip. "I've kinda... Got this project to do ."

"What?"

Another glance at Michael, who was watching the whole thing impassively.

"I'm supposed to... To be at his house to work on our project," Kid explained.

Jack laughed. "So, blow him off."

That sounded a little bit too much like a euphemism for Kid's comfort, but he ignored it, like he always ignored how good Michael looked. "It's a big part of our grade," he said.

"So, he won't care." Jack turned to Michael. "Well ya, Mush?"

"Fuck off, Kelly."

"Mush?" Kid asked.

Kelly laughed. "His dick," he said, and held up his pointer finger, pointing at the ceiling... then slowly lowered it, let it hang down.

The blowing almost-euphemism was better, Kid thought. But he got the limp penis metaphor anyway, because it was pretty blatant. He didn't think Jack was that capable of coming up with a non-blatant metaphor, though.

Michael cleared his throat. "Yeah, that's about what happens when I think of you, Kelly." He looked over at Kid. "I'll see you in the library. Do what you want."

And Michael, looking angry, stalked off.

"So, see you tomorrow." Jack grinned and gave Kid a friendly smack on the arm, then walked off.

Kid stood there and watched him go.

It wasn't that he didn't want to go to Jack's party, it was that he'd rather have worked on the project with Michael, because Michael was nice, and funny, and gorgeous.

But then he thought of his necklace again, and shook that thought off. He was at this school for a _reason,_ after all; he couldn't let the fact that he liked Michael—_not like that,_ he told himself firmly—get in the way. Going to Jack's party was the much smarter choice.

He just didn't want to have to tell Michael that. But he didn't have a choice, and he dragged his feet the whole way to the library.

Michael was sitting at one of the old wooden tables, his notes out in front of him, reading something in an impossibly thick tome. Kid slipped into the seat across from him.

"You're friends with some real jerks, Kid," Michael said, looking up.

"Michael... I—"

"Let me guess; I won't be seeing you Saturday?"

Kid let the quiet hang in the air for a minute, then said, "Yeah."

Michael looked down at his book. "You know, they weren't called the Yankees for the first three years. They were the New York Americans. It was the press that nicknamed them the Yankees. As an insult."

"I know," Kid said, then, "How did _you_ know?"

"I looked it up."

"Why?"

"For our project. I also know Derek Jeter's average for the last ten years, and Alex Rodriguez's birthday, and how many home runs he's hit since he was traded to the Yankees."

"That, uh... That doesn't sound like it's got much to do with the project."

"It doesn't." Michael looked over at him, studied his face. "It's because I like you and you like the Yankees."

"Oh." Kid really didn't know how to react to _that._

"Flattered?" Michael asked wryly.

"Yeah." Kid stared down at the table. "About Jack's party, I—"

"I don't want to talk about it," Michael said.

"Okay." Kid stared down at his hands. "I, um... Well, how about we do it Sunday instead?"

"My mom's hosting a baby shower for one of her friends on Sunday. So my house is... Not exactly going to be fun to hang out at."

"You could come to my place." Kid decided it was just best to ignore what Michael had said. "It's kind of out of the way, but I could pick you up and we could stop for dinner on the way home."

"..._What?"_

"Um, to make up for me being a jerk and blowing you off for the party. Not as, like... Not as a _date_ or anything. Just to ease my guilt."

Michael hesitated. "You really shouldn't be nice to me, Kid."

"I'm nice to everybody."

"Yeah, I noticed. It's kind of frustrating, knowing you're only nice because you're nice to everybody."

"I'm not just nice because I have to be," Kid answered defensively. "You're a pretty good guy, okay?"

"I know I am."

"Okay, then." Kid paused. "You know, um, I've never had a _girl_ look up baseball stats for me before. It really _is_ flattering."

"For all the good it'll do me," Michael answered. "But I'll take you up on your offer for Sunday. Besides, I wanted an excuse to not be in the house for Mom's baby-mania anyway."

"Then it all works out," Kid answered.

*

Saturday afternoon, Kid got trashed; Saturday evening he spent puking in Jack's bathroom. He hadn't meant to drink so much, but one of the rules for achieving his goal was to not let partying get in his way. So Kid had never really partied much before—and so he hadn't thought about how much he was drinking and accepted everything that was handed to him.

The puke was a lovely shade of pink, and he swore never to drink Hawaiian Punch again. With or without the vodka.

Given the state he was in, driving was definitely out; and anyway, Jack lived far closer to Michael than Kid did, as Kid lived almost an hour from everyone. So he spent the night and woke up the next morning feeling as though he'd been run over by a truck and, he discovered upon looking in a mirror, looked about the same.

He took a quick shower before leaving Jack's house and struck out for Michael's, wishing his clothes didn't still stink of spilled alcohol and vomit. He didn't think that would be a great way to make a good impression on Michael's mother, or her baby-crazy friends, who had already gathered by the time Kid knocked on the door.

The woman who answered it looked like Michael, in that she had brown skin and eyes, though her hair was straight instead of curly. She was wearing pastels and from what he could see, there were baby quilts hanging up in the foyer and ribbons and balloons hanging from the ceiling.

"Oh, um... Can I help you?" she asked.

"I'm... My name is Kid, I'm supposed to be meeting Mich—"

"_Mom_, is that Kid? _Hey_—hey." Michael ducked into view, then made a face. "Ught, what did Jack _do_ to you, make you sleep in a barn yard?"

"I don't think so, but I don't really remember much," Kid answered. "Sorry about the stench, I promise it's just my clothes. I'm clean." He looked at Michael's mom, who looked both disgusted and suspicious. "And sober, very sober."

"Smooth, Kid," Michael laughed. "I'm out, Mom! Bye!" He picked up a coat and his bookbag, and dashed out the door before his mom could object.

The ride to Kid's house was rather awkward. "Um... I really am sorry about the stench," he said after a few awkward minutes.

"Was it fun?"

"Until I puked."

Michael smiled. "I didn't picture you as the drinking-till-you-puke-type."

"I didn't picture myself that way, either." Kid frowned a little. "I don't know why I did it."

"Peer pressure?" Michael suggested. "'Cause I know how much the baseball team guys mean to you... I know you want to fit in."

"Not _that_ bad. I'll, uh... I'll change as soon as I get home. Into something clean and not gross." He sighed. "My mom is gonna throw a _fit_ when she gets a whiff of this."

"Sorry."

"Well, it's my own fault. Though I guess if I tell my dad it was a baseball thing I could get off the hook."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. My dad's really... Into baseball."

"That where you get it?"

"Yeah. And my grandfather."

"So it's a family thing?"

"Yeah?"

"Like your name," Michael mused.

"More like that than you know." Blink turned from the residential road onto the highway that led to his home town, and muttered something under his breath.

"What was that?"

"_You_ try merging when you've only got one eye."

"Oh. Are you... Are you blind? Or—"

"Yeah, born that way."

"Sorry. I didn't mean to ask something so personal."

"It's no problem."

There was an awkward pause. "So... What was that about your name?"

"What? Oh." Kid laughed a little. "It was my grandfather's nickname, when he played in the major league."

"Your grandfather played? No wonder your family is obsessed..."

"Yeah. It's really sad, though, because only two months after he was called up from the minors, he messed his back up."

"Was it okay?"

"No. He couldn't play anymore. Short career. But hey, at least he spent the whole thing as a Yankee."

"That why they're you're favorites?"

"I'm pretty sure I'd be disowned if I liked anyone else. God forbid I ever date a Red Sox fan."

"I... I think I read something about the Red Sox. And Babe Ruth, right?"

"Right!" Kid answered, feeling a little too excited to hear Michael talk about his passion. But Michael was still pretty confused, and so Kid launched into a long explanation of Babe Ruth and the Curse of the Bambino, and even though Michael didn't seem very interested, he didn't ask Kid to stop talking.

By the time they pulled in to Kid's driveway, Michael looked a little overwhelmed, but he was still smiling.

Kid's house was nice; his family wasn't wealthy, but they were far from poor, and his mother was a firm believer that there was a place for everything, and god help anyone who didn't put things away in their proper place. He let them in, and was immediately greeted by a shrill, "Kid _Christopher_ Ballatt, where have you been?"

"I, uh... I called last night, Mom," he said, as she marched into the room, hands on her hips.

"Yes, but you were slurring your words so badly I didn't understand a thing you—" She sniffed the air. _"What_ were you doing last night?"

"Well... uh... A couple guys from the team and I..."

"Hey hey, Kid!"

Kid's father and grandfather flooded into the room and his mother shushed them irritably.

_"What_ were you saying?" she demanded.

But heartened by the male presence in the room, he repeated, "A couple of guys _from the team_ asked me over for a few drinks, so..."

"Oh, I gotcha!" his father chuckled. "Boys will be boys, right? Hey, who's your friend? On the team?"

"What? Oh... No, this is Michael, we're doing a project together. Uh, Michael, that's my mom and dad and grandfather."

Kid's family turned to study him, and he glanced at Michael and winced a little. Michael was wearing two rings and a necklace, and his backpack had a rainbow patch on it.

"I _see,"_ Kid's father finally said. "Well, then, you boys had better get to work." He stood aside to let them pass, and Kid's mother frowned a little as they walked by.

But Kid's grandfather cleared his throat and said, "Nice to meet you, Michael." And that made it a little better.

Kid led the way up this room self consciously. "Sorry about them," he mumbled.

"Your mom cares about you a lot," Michael answered. "She was worried."

"I _did_ call home, told her I'd be gone overnight..."

"Once you were already drunk?"

"Well, once I realized I was too drunk to do any driving. In here." He pushed the door to his room open, and they stepped in. He glanced around and wondered what Michael thought of it.

Thanks to his mother's good influence, the place was spotless. And it was certainly themed. His pillows and bedspread both proudly bore the Yankees logo; his sheets were tucked back and it was easy to spot their pinstripes. His walls were dark blue, with grey trim and curtains, and there were posters hanging up, which were all framed or matted, and which all showed off various Yankees players.

Most of them were Derek Jeter.

"Uh... I swear, I'm not _quite_ as obsessed as this place makes me look," he said. "My mom is nuts for decorating and matching and all, she designed it, I swear."

Michael laughed a little. "Wow, you got the hots for Derek or something?" he asked, noting a collage of magazine cutouts that had been put together and framed, and hung above Kid's desk, and the large poster above his bed.

Kid turned bright red almost instantly. "I don't," he said. "I just... Admire him, you know. He's a great player. Best in the game, I swear."

"Yeah, I read that." Mush peered at the poster. "He's got awful hair."

_"What?"_

"I mean, he's kind of cute, if you like athletes with vacant looks on their faces. But his _hair."_

"What's wrong with his hair?" Blink asked defensively.

"Um..." Michael gave the poster another look. "It kind of looks like he grew a Chia Pet on his head."

"It does _not!"_

"It really does." Michael smiled a little. "He's cute when he has the hat on, though."

"Well... if you say so. I wouldn't know."

Kid sat down on his desk and Michael took the desk chair, reached over and picked up a magazine off his bookshelf. _Sports Illustrated._ Michael thumbed through it for a moment, then laughed.

"...What?" Kid asked warily.

"Nothing." Michael flipped another page, but was still grinning at something. Kid peered over his shoulder; it was an old article, from when A-Rod had first been traded to the Yankees.

"What?" he asked again.

"They'd make a cute couple, is all." Michael bit his lip and looked up.

Kid stared at him, horrified. "They'd _what?"_

"Well, look at the picture!" Michael yelped, and handed the magazine to Kid, who was bright red again as he studied it. Derek Jeter and Alex Rodriguez were sitting next to each other in an interview in one, Jeter leaning forward to speak and Rodriguez relaxing back in his chair. And on the next page was a picture of them in uniform together after a victory, grinning as they high-fived with both hands.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Kid finally said.

"Really? Because everything I've seen of baseball has been kind of homoerotic. I mean, I didn't see _much_ because I only go so far for a crush and it made me feel kind of brain dead. But I _did_ see some special on ESPN and it kept showing teams winning and jumping on each other and grown men slapping each other's butts, and that's _not_ supposed to make a guy think?"

"Baseball," Kid said slowly, horrified against his will, "is _not_ homoerotic."

"Then why are you blushing?" Michael asked reasonably.

"I..." Kid trailed off. "I'd better change, these clothes stink."

Michael didn't call him on changing the subject, and offered to wait outside while Kid changed. But that, Kid said, would be ungracious; instead he grabbed a change of clothes and went to change in the bathroom, leaving Michael the luxury of his room, and he hadn't even realized he'd pulled out his faux-Yankees jersey to wear until he put it on.

He ran a comb through his hair and glanced in the mirror. He looked, he decided, like a baseball player.

Definitely not gay.

He strutted back into his room once he was sure the blush had faded and he looked cool again, but stopped short. Michael had glanced around his room some more, looking for anything interesting and not baseball related, apparently.

Because when Kid opened the door, Michael was holding up his necklace, peering at it.

"Number two?" Michael said. "You _do_ seem to have a bit of a fixation with Derek Jeter."

[AN: This is, of course, a Blink Week fic. And you should all go read about the official Blink Week archive and contest, which is linked in my user info. (There will be another one or two chapters of this, I know where it's going but not how long it will take to get there.)

Happy my birthday!]


	2. II

II.

For just a second, Kid was horrified. Then his brain slowly recovered, reminded him that for all he'd had problems at his last school, _plenty_ of straight guys wore necklaces. In manly fashions.

"Well, uh, I'm impressed you know it's his number," he said.

Michael smirked a little. "Looking around this room, it's impossible to miss. It's like a shrine in here." He paused. "I don't think I've ever seen you wear this."

He tossed it to Kid, who noticed that Michael had rotten aim, but catching things was instinctual for him so he caught it anyway. "I don't wear it much," Kid confessed.

"When _do_ you wear it?" Michael asked.

"For... Luck," Kid answered. "It's my good luck charm."

That was true. He used to wear it every day. Kid had always thought he was a pretty lucky guy overall, though; there weren't a lot of people who knew at age sixteen what they wanted to do in life and how to get to do it. He had. _That_ was lucky.

"You wear it at games and stuff?"

Kid nodded and regarded the chain in his fingers. He almost itched to put it on; after three weeks, he no longer felt like he was missing something, but he hadn't really thought about it since. Now, looking at it again, he started to feel naked again.

Naked. In a room with Michael.

He fastened it on and shrugged. "Maybe it'll be good luck for our project."

"You should wear it Tuesday, then." Michael cocked his head a little, studying Kid, and smiled. "It suits you, anyway."

"Uh... Thanks."

Kid tucked it under the jersey he was wearing and they got to work. But it still felt good to have it on.

*

It took several weeks for anything else interesting to happen, Kid decided. His presentation with Michael went well, but as soon as it finished, they stopped speaking again; they shared an occasional nod or hello in passing in the halls, but Michael was definitely not part of what had become Kid's social group. Though Kid found himself watching Michael more often, more carefully; saw that though Michael didn't have many friends at the school, there were a couple; and he found out that most of Michael's friends were part of a local community theater group.

He found out that Michael was in an upcoming community show, and marked the dates down in his Yankees logo student planner when he saw a flyer posted on the school bulletin board.

The second thing he noticed that week was another new kid, or at least, Kid _thought_ he was new. He was tall with broad shoulders, dark hair, and a permanent scowl; his name was Aaron Snodgrass, but was known throughout the school as Snoddy. He was like something out of a cartoon or a kids' TV show; he looked like he probably spent his free time beating up middle schoolers and stealing their lunch money. He made crude comments towards girls, was hostile towards boys, and spent far too much time in the office.

Kid found out quickly he'd been to the school before. People began whispering rumors—he'd disappeared because he'd been in jail. He'd disappeared because he'd been in a mental hospital. He'd disappeared because he'd killed someone, needed to lie low for awhile...

The truth, which eventually came out, was much less interesting. His parents were divorced; he'd disappeared for a few months because he went to live with his mother. She kicked him out, he went back to his dad's, and back to his old school.

But people walked quietly when Snoddy was around.

Especially Michael, Kid noticed. For all Michael flipped off Jack when he made rude comments—which wasn't _often,_ but did happen—when Snoddy said almost the exact same things, Michael shrank back against the wall and looked desperate for help. Kid saw that Michael started skipping lunch altogether, because they had it the same period as Snoddy, and Snoddy clearly made Michael nervous.

Kid didn't know why for sure. But he had a pretty good idea.

But both of those observations took a backseat to trying out for the baseball team, finally, as the weather began to show that someday, spring _might_ come up from under the snow. The atmosphere was tense, though; the team was _good,_ and it only took the best. Kid wasn't the only new kid this year hoping to make it; not to mention the kids who were finally moving up from JV, when the team already only had a few starting positions _not_ filled by returning players.

Standing in the locker room, having changed into his gym clothes, Kid stared down at the flash of gold still in his duffle bag. He'd brought the necklace with him. It _was_ his good luck charm, after all; and even with skill, which he had, a little luck never hurt. But...

He glanced around. Jack was lounging nearby, lazily pulling on his sneakers, like he'd already made the team—which Kid noted he probably _had,_ since Jack was a senior, a returning starter, and nearing graduation. And Kid waited patiently for Jack to straighten up and turn to walk out, then hurriedly pulled the chain over his neck and hid the necklace under his shirt.

If someone looked closely, it was possible to tell he was wearing it; the gold chain showed at the back of his neck and there was a wrinkle caused by the pendant, but probably no one would noticed. And Kid felt a little more confident, wearing it. After all, he had to work harder than anyone else trying out. No one else was blind in one eye.

But he felt ready as he went out to stretch and wait for things to begin.

*

The weeks slipped by. Kid made the team, and his circle of friends expanded further now that he was _officially_ a baseball player and had a defined place in the school. He was playing catcher, and slated to be a starter, and his family couldn't be more thrilled. Practices were fun, and games drew closer, and Kid felt more at ease in school than he had yet.

He couldn't stop watching Michael out of the corner of his eye, though, and wondered if Michael ever saw him watching. They only caught eyes a few times, and every time Michael would look kind of started, then ease into a smile.

Michael's show went up the week before the first baseball game, and after a long practice, Kid found himself showering off and coming his hair, looking disdainfully at his usual jeans-and-t-shirt outfit and wishing it was classier, because his mother had always taught him to dress up for theater. But it was just a community play, and Kid hadn't even realized he wanted to go until he'd seen it written in his planner that morning.

Finding it took awhile, Kid didn't know much of the layout of the surrounding town. But it turned out to be in an old, refurbished fire hall, turned into a theater so small that Kid wasn't sure it could fit more than thirty people, so he was glad it wasn't sold out. But he slid into the back and settled in for the performance of some musical he'd never heard of, though he was pretty sure the plot had been stolen by a Tom Hanks version. Michael played the villain, who was both a womanizer and a business cheat, and watching him on stage almost took Kid's breath away.

Michael on stage was amazing. Michael's singing voice was amazing. The way he moved, the confidence he exuded and the charisma he projected kept Kid thoroughly enthralled for the whole show, and he was certain that Michael had stolen ever single scene he'd appeared in.

After the lights came up, people milled around for a few minutes; Kid caught a glimpse of Michael's mother and who he assumed was Michael's father, with another teenager holding a bouquet of flowers next to them. Kid started to head out, then stopped to wait, thinking that if other people were waiting around, maybe there was a reason; and sure enough, a few minutes later the cast members began to trickle out, Michael near the end.

Kid started forward to see him, but fell back when Michael's family did instead. He greeted his parents with hugs, and then turned to the boy who stood with them, and laughed and blushed. The boy pressed the flowers into his hand, and Michael shook his head. The boy insisted, and finally Michael rolled his eyes but accepted the bouquet and let the boy lean forward and kiss him—though Michael turned his head at the last second so the boy's lips grazed his cheek instead of his mouth.

And as he turned his head, he saw Kid, standing a few feet away, and gaped for a second. Kid watched as he hurriedly excused himself from his family as Kid tried to pretend that the sight of another boy kissing Michael didn't affect him at all.

"Kid!" Michael exclaimed, moving like he wanted to make physical contact, then stopping abruptly and just standing there. "What are you doing here?"

"I came for your show." Kid shrugged nonchalantly. "I, uh, saw the poster."

"Oh, wow, uh, thanks for coming."

Kid shrugged again. "It was... It was good, you were real good. I didn't know you sang. Except in the shower, I mean."

Michael laughed. "I can't believe you remember me saying that."

Kid didn't tell Michael that he remembered almost every word they'd said to each other. He just smiled, then glanced at Michael's family. "I, uh... I didn't know you had a boyfriend."

"What? Oh. I don't." Michael shrugged uncomfortably. "That's just Davey, he's a good guy and all, but... Not really my type. Too bad I'm his."

"You two aren't...?"

"No, he likes me, but... Like I said, not my type."

"What is your type?" Kid asked.

Michael raised an eyebrow. "I like blondes," he answered.

Kid blushed slightly. "Uh, well... I should get going, long drive home and all. So if I wanna get my homework done before midnight..."

"I hear that, this show's been keeping me so busy..."

Kid coughed. "So, uh... I'll see you 'round, Michael." He couldn't stop himself, he put a hand on Michael's shoulder. He hoped it looked like a friendly gesture, that Michael didn't pick up on how nervous he was as his fingers brushed across Michael's neck, came to rest against his back. "You were real good," he said again.

Michael smiled as Kid finally dropped his hand and hurried out. And when Kid glanced back, Michael was still watching after him, smiling.

*

Michael started staring back at Kid across the room and through the halls after that. Kid would glance at him, and smile, and Michael would smile back and not look away. Kid found that he wanted to talk to Michael more, but never had an excuse to. And he had even less of an excuse to reach out and brush his hand against Michael's, but he desperately wanted to.

Denying that urge was hard. He tried to stop watching Michael in history, stared down at the worn picture of Derek Jeter on his assignment book instead, but it was _hard._ He only managed by counting down the hours until the first game as it got closer and closer.

He spent the day of the first game so jittery that he could barely concentrate on classes, and for the first day in what felt like weeks, he didn't think about Michael. He just thought about the game, and tried but failed to lock down his nerves.

But the nerves slipped away as he pulled on his uniform, his catching gear, and went out to take the field. Then, he didn't think about anything except the game, what he was doing, what he had to do. It was one part instinct and four parts hard work, but it felt _good._

They won the game by two runs, and Kid was so exuberant he couldn't stand still. His parents and his grandfather were there to congratulate him, he met the families of most of his teammates, and he couldn't calm down. He didn't even want to go back inside, despite the grime on his skin; he didn't mind being dirty when it was dirt from a win.

But the crowd began to thin out and Jack rolled his eyes, mumbled something about, "Come on, superstar," and began to drag him towards the school. Scanning the bleachers, he saw no one else he knew to talk to, so he obliged and followed Jack towards the school—then stopped as he saw a familiar head of brown hair pick its way through the last remaining observers.

Michael waved and Kid glanced at Jack, then glanced back at Michael, turned around and walked back to the stands, where Michael waited. "You watched a whole ballgame?" he asked.

Michael shrugged. "I was a little late, I had rehearsal."

"I thought your show was over."

"New show." Michael smiled. "I want to act, you know. Sing. On Broadway."

"I... I didn't know," Kid answered.

"I know it's silly..."

"Hey, I want to play professional baseball, so..."

"Yeah, but you're _good._ At least, that's what people kept saying, hell if I know."

Kid laughed. "I, uh, I did okay." He smiled a little, and Michael raised an eyebrow.

"Talented _and_ modest. You just get better and better, Kid."

Kid reached up to wipe some sweat off his face with a muddy hand, and conveniently smeared mud across his cheeks, hiding the slight blush. "I, uh..." He should go. He should go shower, before Jack wondered where he'd gotten off to; he should go before people realized he was talking to Michael. But he didn't want to. "What's your new show?"

Michael grinned. "Believe it or not, it's _Damn Yankees."_

Kid laughed. "Well, I'll _have_ to see it, then."

"It was nice of you to come to my show."

"It was nice of you to come to my game."

They looked at each other, caught each other's eyes, and there was a long moment when neither of them spoke or moved.

Finally, Kid cleared his throat. "I gotta go shower."

"Okay."

Kid gave Michael a friendly chuck on the arm. "Well, 'night, then."

"'Night, Kid."

It was hard, but Kid made himself turn around and walk away, but he felt like he was floating.

*

Kid's life felt like it was broken down by games and practices. He knew the day of the week by if he was playing or practicing; he knew the date by which team he played. School merely passed the time before baseball; eating and sleeping got him refreshed. But his day centered around the sport.

The best nights were game nights. They won almost twice as often as they lost, and even when they lost, there was nothing like playing. And at home games, sometimes Michael came to watch and would wait to say hi afterwards. Kid liked those games best.

Even though people had begun to notice.

"I swear, Mush has a _thing_ for you," Jack noted on the bus to an away game. "He always stares at you in class, he stares at you during games... He's _gay,_ what the hell is he doing even coming to games?"

"Just because he's gay doesn't mean he can't like watching baseball," Kid said. "Who doesn't like it?"

"He never did before this year."

Kid shrugged.

"Kid encourage him," Skittery put in, turning around to face him from the seat in front of theirs. "You talk to him after, like, every game."

"So?"

"So... I dunno," Skittery said. "It's weird, is all."

"He's kind of nice."

"He's _gay."_

Kid rolled his eye. "So what? Can we change the subject?"

"Oooh, defensive," Jack noted.

"Yeah, shut up," Kid answered.

"I'm just sayin'."

"I know, I know." Kid glanced up at Skittery. "How's your hamstring? You said it was tight last night."

Kid let out a breath as the subject changed. Now he was starting to feel nervous just talking about Michael.

*

Days off were confusing. They threw off Kid's rhythm, and he found he didn't like just sitting around the house. It made him feel lazy; even if he was resting instead of working out or playing, he didn't want to feel _lazy._

His mother told him to just get out of the house. Kid, who had been lying on his bed thinking about Michael, Derek Jeter, and all sorts of things he normally didn't let himself think about, agreed. He didn't really want to think too hard about those things, especially Michael.

Being in the closet didn't bother him too much. He knew what he wanted from life; being gay just made it impossible, so he could ignore the fact that he was gay...

...Except for when Michael caught his eye and smiled at him after a game, except for when he let his hand accidentally brush Michael's elbow in the hallway.

So he tried not to think too hard about it, as he climbed into his SUV with no real destination. He found himself driving towards his new school and willed himself _not_ to drive to Michael's house, because some things were a step too far.

His stomach rumbling, he pulled into a mall parking lot, figuring he could get a cheap meal and wander around to kill time. He wondered what his various friends were up to on their free Sundays, and briefly entertained the fantasy of running into Michael in the food court. But he pushed that thought out of his mind as he ordered a slice of pizza.

The pizza didn't keep him entertained for long, and he wandered the mall listlessly. He wasn't really one for window shopping, though he killed some time in Spencer's Gifts looking at the gag gifts, and looked for familiar faces in the hallways.

He ran into them eventually, but not the faces he wanted. People he hadn't seen in months. People from his old school.

Kid's heart rate sped up and he tried to turn and not attract attention to himself. He made it a few steps back down the hallway before, "Heeeeey, Kid! Long time no see, huh?"

Kid froze, turned to face them. "Hey," he said, glancing around for an escape.

"So you really did it. You really switched schools."

"Yeah."

Kid tried to stare down the three of them but it wasn't very effective. He hated conflict, and these three brought conflict with them everywhere. They hadn't been his friends, though they hadn't had anything against him. At least, not at first.

The closest one stepped around to Kid's other side and he backed up against the wall, feeling surrounded. He looked around at them again. One of the three wasn't too intimidating—short and Asian—but the other two were both taller than Kid, and certainly wider.

And there were three of them and one of him, so he wouldn't have felt too comfortable even if they'd _all_ been short.

"Now why would you go and do that?" the Asian kid asked mildly.

"You know why." Kid tried to keep calm.

"Yeah, I think we do know," one of the others sneered, and shoved Kid's shoulder a little. "Faggot," he added, spitting.

Kid slid down the wall, trying to edge away from them slightly. He ignored the insult and the shove, because he really had no other way to deal with it. One of his strengths, he knew, was focusing on what he could do and not the impossible, and getting it done.

"Oh, don't run away yet," the third put in. "Don't you want to catch up?"

Kid swallowed. "Transferred, had no friends, made the baseball team. You want to know anything else or can I _go?"_

Another slight shove. "Now that's just rude. Any cute _boys_ at your school, Kid?" the Asian one asked in a fake lisp. "Have you met that special someone yet?"

"Would you just leave me alone?" he mumbled.

"Now that's no way to treat old friends."

"I—"

"Hey—!" came from somewhere else, and Kid thought he recognized the voice and really wished he could just sink into the floor. "Hey, Kid!"

"Oooh, who's _that?_ Your boytoy?"

And the next thing Kid knew, Michael was standing in front of him, reaching out, grabbing his arm. Michael shot an annoyed look at the three boys around them. "Come on," he said, "the guys are waiting, geeze. You took long enough."

"Sorry," Kid answered, wondering what the hell Michael was talking about, as Michael expertly began to steer him away and down the hall.

"Hey," one of the kids called behind him. "Do all of Kid's new _friends_ know he's a _fag?"_

Michael glanced over his shoulder. "Can't say as any of them _care,"_ he yelled back, Kid still felt like he'd rather be dead than have to explain what had happened. Which, unfortunately, wasn't going to happen; Michael pulled him back to the food court and got them a table.

"Uh... Thanks? What guys are waiting...?"

"What? Oh." Michael smiled at him a little. "I figured that they'd be less likely to... You know, start something if they thought you had other friends lurking around."

"Oh, yeah. Good thinking." Kid shoved his hands in his pockets and stared down at the table, embarrassed. He wondered how Michael got to be so smart, and so kind of brave, to walk in there and pull him out so confidently. It was really, really wonderful of him, Kid thought.

"Who _were_ they_?_ I saw them shove you."

"They went to my old school." Kid didn't really want to talk; he felt a little like he was breaking inside. Like if he talked, it would break through to the outside, too.

"Oh."

Silence hung between them.

Finally, Michael searched Kid's face with his eyes and asked, "Are you what... What they called you?"

"A fag?"

"Gay," Michael said, tapping his fingers against the table top.

Kid felt sick to his stomach, but he didn't want to lie about it. Not to Michael. So he cleared his throat. "Yeah," he said simply.

"Oh." Michael, Kid decided, looked stunned. But he did cover it quickly, and broke into a smile. "I, I can't say I didn't wonder. Hope."

"Michael..."

"I really like you, Kid. And I _know_ you like me, I thought you did but I thought you were _straight_ so it didn't make any sense. But if you're gay, like me..."

"Michael," Kid said again.

"Kid, this is wonderful."

Michael gave him a grin, and for a change Kid wasn't enchanted by it. He was worried.

"No, Michael. It's not." Kid frowned slightly. "You weren't supposed to know. _No one_ is supposed to know."

"Why?"

Kid stared at him, then shook his head. "Look, it doesn't matter."

"It does matter. It matters to _me."_

Kid shrugged.

"At least tell me if you like me," Michael said finally. "Tell me if I imagined that."

"I..." Kid trailed off, shrugged, and Michael's face fell.

"Oh. Okay. I'm sorry I even mentioned it." Michael stood up. "I should go, anyway, I'm done with everything... With my shopping, so..."

"Yeah, me too." Kid stood quickly, wanted to get out as fast as he could. But he couldn't just leave with that look on Michael's face. "Um, Michael. I... I'm sorry."

Michael shrugged. "I'm used to it. I... It just hurts more, knowing that you're... That it's _me_ and it's not just because you're straight. But everyone gets rejected sometimes... Bye, Kid."

And then Michael was walking away, and Kid watched him go, but he didn't look back.

He'd told Michael the truth, he was gay. But then he'd lied.

He liked Michael.

He liked Michael a _lot._

*

Michael stopped looking at Kid after that. Kid noticed, because Kid couldn't stop watching Michael. Michael also stopped going to baseball games, which Kid found more than a little disappointing. He missed seeing Michael in the stands, waiting for him; he missed the eye contact and the occasional touch, and he really missed seeing Michael smile at him.

Michael didn't seem to be smiling much at all.

Kid wasn't the only one who noticed; Jack asked him why Michael wasn't following him around anymore.

Kid just shrugged. "I told him I didn't like him back." Which was even true, the way he phrased it. He just hated not having Michael there anymore. But Jack seemed proud of him, in Jack's own twisted way, and Michael didn't tell anyone.

So Kid's life continued as normal. For awhile.

*

He'd been late getting out of class, because he wanted to get the stupid essay _finished_. So almost ten minutes after the bell rang, with only five to go get changed for practice, Kid hurried out of the classroom and down to his locker, and as he turned the corner to head down the stairs to meet Jack, there were Michael and Snoddy.

It was hard to say just exactly what was happening. "Fight" didn't seem quite right, because it was quite one-sided; one of Michael's arms was wrapped around his stomach, and one clutched his face, and as Kid watched, Snoddy slammed Michael's head against the wall.

"Hey!"

Kid didn't know what came over him, as he ran down the hall. Snoddy looked up in annoyance; Michael looked at him, but his gaze barely seemed to register that someone else was approaching. His eyes looked kind of glazed.

"Just walk on by, Kid," Snoddy snarled.

"No." Kid stopped and took a deep breath, and realized this was probably not very smart, because Snoddy was taller than he was, weighed more than he did, and judging by how shitty Michael looked, knew what he was doing when he got into a fight. But still, Kid wasn't going to just walk by. He liked to think he wouldn't have walked by _anyone_ getting beaten up, but he felt something very dark inside himself because it was Michael.

Kid didn't want to see Michael in pain. Ever.

"You get one last chance, Kid." Snoddy let go of Michael, who sagged against the wall like he was broken, and Kid stood up straight and clenched a fist. He wondered if maybe he could get in a decent punch if he did it first, as a surprise, and if that would help him in the fight overall.

He wondered if after the fight, he'd be in any shape to play in the next day's game.

He wondered if he'd be suspended and unable to play anyway. That thought almost made him walk away; playing was important. It was his life. Not to mention how pissed off his family would be.

Michael groaned, and dropped his hand, and Kid could see his lip had been split and was bleeding badly, he had a bloody nose, and a large bruise forming.

"Leave him alone and get out of here," Kid said, more courageous than he knew he could be.

Snoddy laughed.

Kid glowered.

And then there were footsteps behind him. "Kid, where ya been, you're going to be..."

Jack's voice trailed off, and then he was there, next to Kid. And Skittery and Bumlets were behind him, and Snoddy sneered at the four of them. Kid watched as Jack looked at Michael, and then at Snoddy and Kid. He cleared his throat.

"Things here okay?"

Kid thought that was a stupid, stupid question. But what he said was, "Ask _Snodgrass._ But Michael's not okay."

Michael finally seemed to be regaining some coherence, and he looked at Snoddy and Kid and the baseball players, saw that Snoddy was watching them and not him, and took off. Kid thought that was probably a smart move.

Snoddy glowered at Jack, but Jack was good at keeping his cool. "Things here _okay?"_ he repeated.

"Get lost, Kelly," Snoddy answered, but apparently he no longer liked the odds, because he turned and walked away, too.

Kid was just glad that he didn't walk in the same direction as Michael. And then Kid was very glad Jack had good timing.

"You're lucky he didn't beat the snot out of you, Kid," Jack noted. "What were you doing?"

"Michael was about to pass out, what was I _supposed_ to do?"

"You're too nice." But Jack seemed to mean that as a compliment.

"Come on. No one deserved that, it's... anyone would have helped. _You'd_ have helped him, right?" Kid hoped that didn't sound desperate.

Jack shrugged. "Well, yeah, but probably not by challenging Snoddy myself, ya dumbass. Some of us want to be in shape to play tomorrow."

"I should... Someone should go check on Michael, make sure he's okay..."

"Oh, he's fine," Skittery put in. "He can take care of himself, and you are _so_ late to practice. Don't think we're covering for you, either."

"Yeah, yeah." Kid sighed, but didn't mind too much.

Risking the coach's wrath was better than not helping Michael would have been.

*

Kid knocked on the door nervously. He'd been distracted all through practice, though no one pushed him, given why he'd been late, except for at the end when the coach gave a not at all subtle lecture about focusing, giving your all, and how they had damn well _better_ not be so scatterbrained in the next day's game.

But that was also when Kid had decided that he'd go make sure Michael had made it home okay. He didn't think he'd be able to sleep if he didn't make sure. Even if it was stupid to do, considering how much he liked Michael, how Michael had been avoiding him, and that didn't even take his reputation into account.

Kid's mother opened the door. She gave Kid a cold look. "Can I help you?" she demanded.

"I, uh, my name is Kid. I'm a friend of Michael's, I... Is he around?"

Because if Michael _hadn't_ made it home, she'd panic if she heard why. Kid didn't want her to panic.

But she answered, "He's not feeling well. I'll tell him you came by."

She started to shut the door, and Kid actually overcame his urge to be polite and physically held it open. "I'm sorry to be a trouble, ma'am. I'd just like to see him. I heard about... saw... I was there this, this afternoon. I wanted to make sure he's okay."

"If you saw, why didn't you stop it?" she demanded. "My son is not—"

"Darla," a male voice said, and Michael's father stepped into the foyer. He was tall, unlike Michael or his wife, and his skin was a pasty white and his hair was blond and curly. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Kid decided Michael got his good looks from his mother, though he _did_ appreciate the curls. "Who's this?"

"He's leaving."

"Wait," Kid pleaded. "Please. I'd just like to talk to Michael for a minute."

Michael's mom glowered at him, but his father cleared his throat. "What did you say your name was?"

"Kid."

"I'm so sorry."

Kid smiled. "That's what Michael said," he remembered. So maybe curls weren't the only thing Michael had inherited from his father. Sense of humor was important too.

"Now, would you be the baseball playing Kid our boy is so fond of?"

Kid nodded a little, wondered how much Michael had told his parents.

"Timothy—"

"Darla, let the boy in. He just wants to talk."

She scowled some more, but opened the door again. Kid was a little relieved, though not very happy that she insisted on following him to Michael's room.

Michael was lying in bed, propped up by a mountain of pillows, covered by a large comforter. He was dozing off, and Kid could see his face clearly now. His whole left cheek was covered in a bruise that faded to green and purple at the edges, looking unnatural on such a beautiful face. His eyes were shut gently, his lip was cut visibly, and the cut trailed down onto his chin. Or so Kid guessed, from the band-aids.

"I can wait so I don't wake him," Kid murmured. "I don't want to be a bother."

"That might be best, perhaps you could come back another day."

"I—"

Michael's eye fluttered opened, then widened. _"Kid?"_ he asked.

"Hey, Michael." Kid shoved his hands in his pockets.

Then Michael looked at him skeptically. "What are you doing here?"

"I just wanted to make sure you're okay."

"Oh. Okay." Michael looked up at his mom. "Mom, can we..."

"I don't want anyone upsetting you right now, Mikey."

_"Mom,"_ Michael whined. "He's not gonna upset me, he's my..." He trailed off.

"Friend," Kid supplied, and was rewarded with the ghost of a smile from Michael.

"Friend," Michael finished. "And he helped me this afternoon. He was the one who helped me."

_"Oh,"_ Michael's mother said suddenly, and then she nodded. "Well, you boys take as long as you need, then. Kid, I..." She trailed off.

He shrugged. "It's okay," he said. "I'd be worried about Michael too. I _was_ worried."

She smiled and nodded and left them alone, shutting the door behind her. Hesitantly, Kid moved to sit down on the bed, faced Michael.

"Thank you..." Michael said quietly. "For helping me, I mean. It was... It was real nice, considering..."

"You didn't deserve it. No one deserves that."

"I know... I know, you're nice to everyone. Still, though, it... It takes a good guy to stand up for someone else like that."

"I didn't do much," Kid mumbled. "He'd probably have wiped the floor with me, if Jack and everyone—"

"Kid, don't be modest." Michael smiled a little. "You're always modest, about baseball and how cute you are and about... About this. Most people aren't so _good_, Kid, don't you get that? You're so good." He looked away from Kid abruptly. "I wish you hadn't come."

"What? Why?" Kid felt a little stung by that.

"I was doing so well at getting over you." Michael looked back up at him, hesitantly. "I even almost managed to dislike you, tried to think of you as an idiot jock and all. But then you had to go and be _nice_ again."

"Anyone would have stopped to help you."

"Yeah, but how many people would come check on me after?"

Kid shrugged.

Michael sighed. "I'm fine, I am. I just... I hate Snodgrass so goddamn much. I _hate_ him."

"Can you... Can you, like, report him? Get him suspended or expelled or... or press charges?"

"Nah." Michael pulled his knees up to his chest and winced. Kid supposed something probably ached, which he just couldn't see, under Michael's blankets. "I mean... I probably _could,_ but that would just make him hate me even more. And, and anyway, I'm not... I don't want to be the kind of guy who runs for help from the authorities or whatever. I want to fight my own battles."

"Isn't that what the... the authorities are there for?"

"Maybe." Michael shrugged. "But people already figure I'm a, a pussy, and if I don't handle it on my own that just proves them _right._ I'd rather get the shit beat out of me than let fucking Jack Kelly sneer at me any more."

"Jack's not so bad."

"You wouldn't say that if he knew _you_ were gay."

That hung in the air for a minute, and Michael shook his head. "Sorry, geeze. Sorry, I should be way nicer to you than that. I guess I'm just bitter because you don't... You and I..."

"About... About you and I. Me."

Kid took a deep breath. He didn't want to do this; he didn't want to say it. But it was only fair to Michael that he be honest.

He wished he had his necklace on for good luck.

Michael gave him an odd, quizzical look.

"I'm sorry, Michael, I... I don't know how to... God." Kid looked away. "I do like you. I like you so much that I, I think about you all the time. I watch you in class and in the hallways and I went to your show because I _liked_ you, and I didn't like seeing another boy kiss you at _all._ I wanted to do it."

Michael didn't say anything, and finally, Kid looked at him.

Michael was gaping.

Finally he said, "I think Snoddy hit me harder than I thought, because I could swear I heard you say..."

Kid nodded, and Michael beamed. But Kid looked away again. "And that's why I'm sorry I can't come out, because I really like you, and I wish I could... I wish we could go out sometime. But we can't, so I'm sorry."

He didn't look back at Michael. He didn't want to see the crushed facial expression.

Finally, he heard Michael ask, "Who says you can't come out?"

"I say." Kid looked back at him, then turned away. Michael looked bad enough to begin with, but now he looked like someone had killed his puppy dog and _then_ beaten him up.

"Why?"

"You'd think it was dumb. You wouldn't... No one understands."

"At least let me try."

Kid hesitated, then nodded.

"I... It's because of baseball."

He stopped short, wondering how to possibly explain it, and Michael took that as just a _stop,_ apparently, because he said, "Well, that's stupid."

"No it's _not._ It's like... Ever since I was born, I've wanted to play baseball. Play professionally. I've spent my whole life... I had a gameplan. My family and I did. My grandfather played, and my dad _wanted_ to but he didn't have the talent. Worked hard, but no talent. They both wanted to see someone else in the family do it. Then I was born and...

"I mean, Dad was disappointed. I was blind in one eye, they figured I couldn't play. But Gramps, he taught me to play anyway, as a kid. He convinced me I could do it. He convinced my _parents_ I could do it. And it's all I want, all I ever wanted... I had a _gameplan._ I did.

"But... But getting a crush on Derek Jeter wasn't in the plan, not at all. So I... I ignored it, hoped it would go away, you know? But it didn't and I was... I mean, _gay._ And there _aren't_ a whole lot of gay athletes out there, so I... I told my folks, we had a long talk and decided I should just ignore it. I knew what I wanted, I _know_ what I want, and being gay would just get in the way. So I can ignore it, mostly, except you're so fucking beautiful when you smile, that I..."

He trailed off, and had to take a deep breath. But before Michael could say anything, he was talking again.

"At my old school, there was this guy. He was a lousy first baseman, but he was cute, and funny, and I liked him a lot. More than any guy except... Well, you and Derek." He almost laughed at how stupid that sounded, admitting it aloud. "I didn't know _what_ to do. I liked him, I got all awkward around him, I acted like... Like I had a crush on him, except no one knew I was gay, so no one realized that was what it was. Until I told him, because I couldn't keep it bottled up anymore.

"Tony... I mean, he took it okay. He just was startled, freaked out, so he tried to talk about it with one of his friends... Who blabbed to the whole school. And I was stupid so I didn't deny it, and next thing I knew, there were people... There was the kind of trouble that made me decide to keep it a secret to begin with.

"The team... it was the end of last semester, when I finally told Tony. And next thing I knew, there was a petition. All the baseball players signed it. Asked me not to try out for the team again." He swallowed hard. "And there were phone calls. They weren't as polite. They swore at my mom and threatened me and my family and...

"I had to get out of there, I had to switch schools. But that meant the plan, it wasn't _ruined._ I could get it back, I just had to... Focus more, block out people like you. People I liked. Because I _will not_ go through that again."

He finally looked at Michael as he wrapped up, ran out of words. "So, I just... I like you a lot. But I want to play baseball."

"You want to play," Michael repeated, murmured. "And I guess I'm not in your plan."

"I'm sorry." Which was true. Kid had never been sorrier about anything in his life.

"So then..." Michael shook his head. "I don't get it. I mean, I get you want to play and all, but _Jesus,_ Kid. You really want to hide your whole life? You think you'll _like_ that?"

"No, I don't want to. But I don't have a choice."

"You do. You can't plan your whole life around—"

"All I want in the whole world is to play professionally, Michael. It's all I've _ever_ wanted. I'll do whatever that takes, even if..."

"And you don't think someday you'll look back and be... Be fucking _ashamed_ of hiding? You think you'll never mess up like you did at your last school or... or by telling me? You think you're never going to look back at your life and regret having been a damn _liar_ through the whole thing?"

"I think if I don't, I'll look back and regret not trying to play for _sure._ I... I'm _good_, since you said not to be modest. For someone my age—let alone half-blind—I'm really _good._ And I've got a good chance, my grandfather knows some scouts... I can get a baseball scholarship to college, probably, and go from there if the scouts don't notice me next year. I'm _good,_ I've got a real chance. If I don't blow it."

"What if it gets blown for you?"

"What?"

Michael said quietly, "What if someone... Tells someone and the rumor spreads again?"

"You're the only one who knows."

Michael didn't say anything.

Kid stared at him, and finally said, "I don't think I'd like you anymore. And anyway, I'd deny it, this time. And I'd make people believe me."

"How? When you... You helped me out, came to check on me, came to my _show._ You think people won't read between the lines?"

"I'll do what I have to." Kid felt like he was making a threat, and felt a little sick again. He didn't like threatening Michael, or arguing with him. "People will want to believe me. I'll call you a fag, I'll say you're making things up, that you're jealous because I don't like you back. I'll date a cheerleader and dump her before she figures out why I don't want to have sex. I'll do _whatever_ it takes."

Michael stared at him, horrified, upset. "Then I guess you really _do_ know what you want."

"It's all I've ever wanted, Michael. In my whole life."

"I think you're wrong. I think it's what your grandfather wanted and you don't know how to tell him no."

"Then you don't know me very well."

"Maybe you _think_ it's what you want, Kid. But someday you'll regret it."

"No, I won't."

"And..." Michael sounded a little choked. "I guess I'm not worth ruining your dream for, huh? Even though unlike at your old school, I _do_ like you back. A lot."

Kid shrugged. He wasn't going to say aloud that it was true. He'd never say anything so hurtful as to agree to that aloud.

"You should go, then."

"I know. I... I'm sorry, Michael. I just wanted to tell you the truth. I'm really sorry..."

Kid stood up, but Michael reached out and grabbed his arm.

"Wait," he said. "One last thing." He tugged Kid back down to sit on the bed, and Kid sat, even though he wished he could just get out of there already.

But then Michael leaned forward and kissed him. Lips to lips, and then Kid felt his mouth part slightly, felt Michael's tongue, noted the coppery taste of the cut on Michael's lip. And Kid knew he shouldn't respond, but he couldn't help it. He'd wanted to kiss Michael for so _long,_ no matter how he denied it.

It felt like forever before Michael pulled away from him, but still not long enough.

"I figure, if you stick with your gameplan, that's the only real kiss you'll ever get," Michael said. "And now I've kissed you, so I don't regret anything, either. So go on."

Kid stood again. He walked out without speaking, because he didn't know what to say.

But he didn't eat dinner, and he didn't brush his teeth that night. He wanted to hold on to Michael's taste for as long as he could.

[Thanks to Emme3, Thistle, Hotshot, Braids, TSB, Ravenclawer, Hephaestion, Rumor and Parkranger for reviewing.]


	3. III

III.

Kid's game was off.

At age seventeen, he had played since he was old enough to walk and hold a miniature, plastic bat. And while he hadn't always been _good,_ he had never been _off._ Never sunk below his level of talent, whatever level that might have been at the time.

But Kid's game was seriously _off._

He struck out four out of four times at bat, he missed a ball to allow a stolen base, and his aim and arm strength for throwing seemed to have disappeared.

They lost the game, and it was on a run scored by the player who'd stolen second base when Kid fumbled. His teammates were not thrilled, but his coach was _furious._ And then he had to look up and see his parents and grandfather watching, saw how disappointed they were.

He didn't mind having Jack yell at him, though, or having the coach come as close to cursing him out as he could come without being accused of abuse that could lose him his job. Kid deserved it because he'd messed up.

He deserved it because right then, he was pretty sure he deserved all the abuse anyone wanted to give him. He was even almost tempted to see out Snoddy and provoke him, because Kid was pretty sure getting beaten up would at least give him an excuse to feel so shitty. It certainly couldn't make him feel any worse.

Michael hadn't shown up for school until after history had ended, and Kid was pretty sure that was just so Michael could avoid him. Michael had certainly gone out of his way to avoid him in the halls, and when Kid _had_ finally caught sight of him, Michael was very pointedly looking away.

Kid even tried to say hello to him, but Michael had ignored him and walked away.

It was just focusing on baseball that kept Kid from breaking down. But that wasn't working so well either, because his game was off.

He wasn't a genius by any stretch of the imagination, but even Kid realized that Michael avoiding him and his game being off were probably related.

It was only his grandfather who seemed to let it go. "Everyone has off days," he said with a shrug. "You're overdue for one, by now."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Don't beat yourself up. You work harder than any boy out there. The scouts will notice that."

"Yeah." Kid didn't really want to talk.

Apparently, his grandfather noticed, and gave him a pat on the back. "Well, you'll do better next time. Work hard in practice tomorrow. Get your focus back."

Kid just nodded, and watched as his grandfather walked off, leaning heavily on his cane. He wondered if his grandfather had any regrets about his life.

*

A week later, Kid was officially in a slump. His aim and his arm came back, mostly, but it was like his reflexes had slowed down. The ball went where he put it, but almost never in time.

And he _still_ had yet to hit anything.

Michael had yet to look at him, let alone speak to him.

Kid had never been one for extreme emotions; he usually kept on an fairly even, happy-go-lucky keel. He had been angry when he'd been outed at school and asked to leave the baseball team, and occasionally vaguely upset when he'd lost a game or missed an easy catch.

But now he was depressed.

He'd never been depressed before, really.

It was after a week when his grandfather finally took him aside to talk again. Kid still didn't want to talk, but he didn't mind being reminded of how badly he was doing. He was almost reveling in being told he sucked, being reprimanded. The coach had threatened to take away his spot as a starter if he didn't shape up.

And Kid knew he deserved it, so he didn't even care.

But that wasn't what his grandfather had in mind, as they sat down in the living room for a late-night chat, right before Kid was heading off to bed.

"Kid..." he sighed. "You haven't been playing so well, the last few games."

"Yeah. I know."

"Everything okay? Or are you just... off your stride?"

Kid shrugged.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Talk about what? I know I need to focus, keep my head in the game. It'll pass, you keep saying."

"Talk about what's bothering you. You're not acting like yourself, Kiddo."

Kid swallowed hard. His grandfather hadn't called him Kiddo in years, it had been a childhood nickname. He wondered why his grandfather was using it now.

"I... I'm fine, Gramps. Really."

"Uh huh." His grandfather didn't sound convinced. "Now I may be old, Kiddo, but I'm not _stupid_ and it's not just that you haven't been playing well. You seem upset about something all the time lately."

"I'm fine."

"You're a baseball player, not an actor, Kiddo. Talk to me."

Kid heard the word 'actor' and his mind immediately turned to Michael, how Michael wanted to be on Broadway... and how Michael wasn't speaking to him. How Kid couldn't blame him.

He took a deep breath.

"There's this boy."

"Oh, one of _those_ slumps."

"Uh... Yeah." Kid didn't say anything else, and waited for the disapproval. Waited to be told about how he should put it out of his mind and focus on playing, improving, his upcoming career...

"Well, tell me about him," his grandfather finally prompted.

Kid hadn't expected that.

"Well, uh, he's... He's real nice. I... I like him a lot. I mean, I think... I like him more than I ever..." He looked helplessly at his grandfather, who nodded a little, understanding. "He, uh. He likes me too."

"Does he know...?"

"Yeah. I... I didn't mean to tell him, I wouldn't have, but we... I mean, we weren't at the mall _together,_ but we were both there, and some guys from... From the old school saw me, started... Well, he helped me out and they told him."

"I see." The word were calm, measured, but not judgmental.

"I mean, I, I told him the truth. Not then, but he got... Beaten up after school last week, and I kind of helped him out, even though I didn't _really_ do anything. I told him the truth after, though."

"What truth?"

"I told him how much I like him." Kid wrapped his arms around himself, feeling self-conscious. His family _knew_ he was gay, but after the initial decision that he shouldn't tell anyone, they had never really discussed it. Except for when the letters and the phone calls from school started... But even then, it wasn't like they talked to Kid about his crush. It wasn't like the reassured him that it was really _okay_ that he was gay.

"How did he take it?"

"He took _that_ real well. It was just when I told him I couldn't... When I told him I wasn't willing to be with him that he got upset. Kind of pissed off, I think. He won't talk to me."

"And that's when—"

"He _kissed_ me." Kid clenched his ribcage tight, felt all of his fingers through the t-shirt he was wearing to bed. "I just... I know I can't be with him, I know I have to think about my, my future and all. But I just wish..." He cleared his throat. "Don't worry, I'm keeping... Keeping as focused as I can. It'll pass. Like you said."

"Do you want it to?"

"What?"

His father looked at him seriously. "Kid, you're seventeen years old. You have a crush and your crush likes you back. You really just want it to go away?"

"It would make things easier."

"But is it what you want?"

"I can't have... I can't have what I want. I can't have it both ways." He let his arms drop, nearly drooped in his seat. "And I want to play."

"And we all want you to," his grandfather said. "But this boy... What's his name?"

"Michael."

His grandfather nodded, not looking surprised. "Michael seems to mean a lot to you."

"So?" Kid asked, kind of bitterly.

"Kid, there's no... If you could be with Michael, would you?"

"Yes."

"And baseball is all that's stopping you?"

"Yeah."

"Kid..." His grandfather sighed. "No matter what you do, it won't be easy. You know that. You know how hard you have to work to get what you want."

"I _know._ I'm not going to let go of... Of everything I've worked for. I'm _not."_

"Okay, then." Kid's grandfather nodded, seemingly satisfied, but added as an afterthought, "If that's what you want to do."

"What else _could_ I do?"

"Kiddo... You're seventeen years old."

"So?"

"So any other guy in high school would just ask the boy out. _That's_ what you could do."

"But I _can't."_

"Who said you can't?"

Kid stared at him. "I... We decided, as a family. I had to change _schools."_

"And who said it would be _easy,_ Kiddo?"

"I could get... I could get kicked off the team. I want to _play._" He even ignored how badly he was playing lately. It was still what he wanted to do. Michael's smile couldn't change that... The kiss nearly had, but... Kid shook his head, tried to shake those thoughts out of it. Tried to focus.

But focusing was so _hard_ lately...

"Then you'd better make sure that wouldn't happen."

"It's..." Kid shook his head. "I mean, I'd like... There's no point in talking about it, Gramps. It's impossible."

"_Nothing_ is impossible. Kiddo, do you remember what I told you when you were in... Oh, maybe second grade? Your teacher told you you'd never be able to play baseball, with one blind eye."

Kid shook his head no, but thought. He sort of remembered... he remembered his teacher telling him that. He remembered he started crying on the playground, upset because he just wanted to play like the other kids. And the teachers couldn't get him calmed down, they'd called his home...

"We talked for a long time," his grandfather said. "And I told you the truth. It _would_ be harder for you, being half-blind; it _wasn't_ fair. Life isn't fair, but you can still make the most of what you've got. If you're smart about it, if you work hard, you can still do whatever you want to. But you've got to work _hard."_

"I did," Kid said, remembering. "After that, I worked hard. I got... I got good."

"And you're still working hard," his grandfather noted. "And I know you won't let anything get in your way. So if you want something else too, then you've got to be—"

"Smart," Kid said. "You have to be smart and work hard.... But... How can I... I mean, how can what I do change how people... How they act?"

"Well, to do _that,_ Kiddo, you need a gameplan."

*

Sticking with a plan that would take a month to put into effect was hard, Kid realized. Which seemed stupid—after all, he'd been working with a life-long plan before, and a month was nothing next to that. But there were just too many things that could go wrong, and even if he did it perfectly, he had no _real_ guarantee it would work.

Maybe Michael would be over him by then. Maybe Snoddy would find out and kick his ass, too. Maybe he'd get kicked off the baseball team.

But maybe not. And remembering the feeling of Michael's lips against his made him resolute.

Kid had always been focused, had always worked hard. But as he snapped out of his slump he did it so hard people's heads were left spinning. He went from focused to intense to obsessed. Every ball had to be caught, every throw had to be perfect, and every at-bat had to put the ball in play, place it _just_ where Kid wanted it to. And his usual good natured attitude became darker; he never cursed out his teammates when they didn't match his intensity, but god forbid he strike out or miss a throw, because he got downright _scary._

But he also got results, so if his teammates noticed his attitude change, they didn't mind it any. He became an example; his coach kept telling players that they should _all_ work so hard, be so dedicated.

The team kept winning, and Kid kept pushing himself.

He had a timeframe to stick to, after all.

A month felt like an eternity, but he had to make the most of every minute. Because if he _didn't_ make himself absolutely indispensable to the team...

He didn't think about that. He just focused on playing.

*

The poster for _Damn Yankees_ had a picture of Michael wearing a baseball uniform. Kid felt no guilt whatsoever about glancing down the hall to make sure no one was around, peeling the tape off, folding it carefully and putting it in his bag. Michael wearing a baseball uniform was just _unfair._

He hung it up in his room next to his mirror and even though his parents thought that was a bit odd, he ignored them.

Besides, Michael had put up another copy of it the next day, so Kid figured no one cared that he'd stolen it.

*

It was three weeks before he finally managed to get Michael to speak to him again. Michael had given up on avoiding him, as Kid went out of his way to make that impossible, but had managed to avoid having any real contact with him. But the teacher rearranged their seating chart in history, and by some stroke of luck, they were next to each other.

Michael didn't look too happy about it, and spent most of the period staring out the window. But then the teacher had to answer the phone and walked out into the hallway with it, so everyone slacked off and started messing around, and Kid turned to Michael.

"Hey," he said.

"Hi," Michael said flatly.

"Uh... How's your show going? Rehearsals, I mean."

"Fine."

Kid cleared his throat awkwardly. "It goes up next weekend, right? I, uh, saw the poster."

"Yeah."

"I... I'd like to see it."

"Don't bother." Michael glared at him for a second then added, "Besides, are you sure you can take so much time away from your _game?"_

"I can do what I want."

"Yeah, whatever." But then the angry look on Michael's face softened. "I heard a few guys at the theater talking about you. They said you're playing really well, that the team is amazing this year."

"Yeah, we do okay."

And then the bell rang, so that was the end of the conversation. But at least it was something.

*

Focusing was actually kind of harder, the few days before Kid's plan hit its critical stage. He was nervous and jumpy, which wasn't exactly conducive to playing well, but Kid just plain _refused_ to play badly. And anyway, baseball calmed him down and nerves slid away as soon as he stepped on to the field.

They won their game on Friday. Saturday, they had a morning practice, and Saturday evening, _Damn Yankees_ opened. Kid showered after practice, made sure he looked presentable and not like he'd been sliding around in the mud—which he had—and fastened his necklace in place.

He had time to kill. A few hours.

Lunch didn't keep him occupied long, because he wasn't hungry. He was too nervous to be hungry. He got the month's issue of _Sports Illustrated_ at the local grocery store and read through it in his car, trying to calm himself down. Then he chucked it into the backseat, headed back into the grocery store, and bought a bouquet of a dozen roses, set them gently in the passenger seat, and dialed Jack on the cell phone his parents made him carry, since he had such a long drive every day.

"Yo," Jack said, and Kid could hear the TV in the background. "Blink, what's up?"

"Can you do me a favor?"

"Uh... Yeah, sure, I guess. What do you need?"

"I need you to go to a show with me tonight."

"What?"

"I need you to go to a show with me tonight." He coughed. "Not in a gay way, shut up."

Jack laughed. Kid shrugged off the feeling that 'not in a gay way' was kind of a lie. "Uh... What show?"

_"Damn Yankees._ It's at the Firehouse in, like, an hour."

"Why do you want—"

"There's something after I want to show you. Okay?"

"Uh..." He knew Jack well enough to know Jack was making a face, trying to think of a good excuse. "This is some stupid musical, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Kid—"

"Jack, come on. It's a couple hours. I'll pay."

"Well... _Fine._ But you owe me. Musical theater is not exactly my idea of a good time."

"Thanks, Jack. I'll meet you there, okay?"

"Yeah, sure. Ya weirdo."

Jack hung up. Kid sank back in the driver's seat of his car, a little relieved, but now even more nervous.

He was actually going through with it.

Oh dear _god._

*

The show was cheesy, Kid decided. It wasn't really the fault of the cast, who were mostly excellent, but really, musical theater wasn't Kid's thing anymore than it was Jack's. But Michael was captivating—as Kid had expected—and since this clearly was _Michael's_ thing, Kid didn't mind any.

The show ended, the curtains closed, then reopened for a curtain call. The applause echoed off the walls of the tiny theater and Michael positively beamed as he came out for his bow. Kid applauded loudly and as the cast shuffled back off the stage, reached for the bouquet under his seat.

Jack gave him a skeptical look. "Please tell me that's for the hot singing chick," he said. "If you just needed moral support to ask her out, buddy..."

Kid cleared his breath. "Not quite."

"Uh, well... Then can we get going?"

"Not quiet yet."

"Kid, this is real _weird._ What's going on?"

"Just wait a minute, okay?"

Jack grumbled and slumped in his seat, and they waited for the cast to make its way back out into the theater. Kid watched Michael's family greet him, saw Michael grin and beam and bounce on his feet, looking hyper. Kid stood up, holding the flowers tightly. "Come on."

"Kid..." Jack shook his head. "Tell me you're not..."

"Just... Stand there and watch and chill _out,_ okay?"

"Yeah, but this is..."

Kid shot him a quick glare and Jack shut up and stood quietly, while Kid made his way through the crowd of people congratulating Michael, careful not to let the flowers get crushed. And then the last person stepped out of his way, and he and Michael were face to face.

"Hi," Kid said.

"Hi," Michael answered.

Kid held out the flowers. "For you. You're real good."

"...Thanks," Michael said, then, "Look, Kid, I appreciate it and all, but you don't have to—"

"Michael, would you like to go out for dinner with me tomorrow night?"

Michael stared at him. _Stared._

"This is a joke, right?" Michael said slowly.

Kid shook his head. "I really like you, Michael."

And then Jack was there, and he was kind of gaping too. "Blink, I coulda sworn I just heard you... Did you just ask him out?"

"Yes."

Jack stared. Kid turned his attention to Michael. "So, uh... Would you? Go out with me?"

"I..." He looked at Kid, then looked at Jack. "You're serious about this? You mean you're actually..." He cleared his throat. "You're actually gay?"

"Yes," Kid said again.

"Holy..." Jack shook his head. "Blink, man, this is—"

"This is what?" Kid interrupted. "My arm is still as good as it was yesterday, Jack. My batting average hasn't dropped any. So is there a problem?"

Kid stared at Jack. Michael stared at Jack. Jack shifted uncomfortably. "It's real weird, Kid."

"Not really," Kid said.

Jack stared at them, then shrugged. "You're a real good catcher, though. But a few people won't like it much."

Kid smiled. "I know, but you can help me, right? That's why I wanted you to know first. People listen to you, they respect you."

Jack shrugged, and the modesty was pretty clearly fake. "I dunno... It'll be hard."

"Jack, come on, please?" Kid asked. "I... I just want to play."

Jack nodded. "I know. I'll, uh, talk to some people."

Kid smiled, relieved. "Thanks, Jack."

"Yeah, well... You're a real good catcher," Jack said again. "I'm, uh... Gonna get out of here. 'Night."

"Bye, Jack."

"Bye," Michael added.

Jack looked over at him, like he'd forgotten Michael was there. Then nodded a little. "Yeah, 'night, Mush... Michael."

Jack hurried out.

Michael turned to face Kid. "I can't believe you just _did_ that!"

"Neither can I." Kid felt jittery now, a little hyper himself, though Michael seemed to have calmed considerably. "Oh my god. I can't believe I did that." He blinked a few times. "I can't believe it _worked."_ Then, "You never answered my question."

"I know," Michael said impishly. "I'm thinking about it."

"Oh."

"Kid, you... I mean, did you just do that for me? Really?"

"Yes."

"What happened to your gameplan?"

"After seventeen years..." Kid shrugged. "Sometimes plans change. And I'd have seriously regretted it if I hadn't at least asked you out."

"What about your family? Won't they be...?"

"My grandfather... He said he'd handle my parents. So..." Kid took a deep breath. "Will you? Go out with me?"

"Oh, _hell_ yes." Then Michael's eyes went wide. "Oh my god. Oh my _god,_ Kid." Michael's hyperness was back, and he impulsively threw his arms around Kid's waist. "Oh my... I... Can I kiss you?"

But he didn't have to, because Kid snaked his hands around Michael's shoulders, leaned in and kissed him, instead. He could feel the flower stems poking into his back but didn't care, because he also felt Michael's lips on his, Michael's body pressed against his, crushing his necklace against his shirt between them. Felt one of Michael's hands snake down his back and come to rest in his back pocket.

When they finally broke apart, Michael's hand stayed in place, and Kid felt himself blushing. But he didn't try to hide it. He looked over at Michael's family, and saw his mother smile, saw his father hold up an old Polaroid camera. Before Kid knew what was happening, Michael had pulled him close and the flash went off. And then there was a picture pressed into his hand, because one of Michael's was still resting lightly against Kid, and the other held the bouquet, and Kid felt Michael leaning against him as they watched the picture develop.

Kid reached a hand back around Michael's back as they waited, almost oblivious to the rest of the world.

They were standing close together, smiling. Michael still had his stage makeup on, Kid was blushing, and his necklace had fallen out from under his shirt, where the flash glinted off it. They looked good together, and natural. Kid smiled.

It was clear in the picture that they were together, that they were gay. Anyone in the theater could see it.

But he was still a baseball player.

As he turned to kiss Michael again, he had never felt so free.

[Aaand, we're done. Thanks for all the feedback on this one, I was experimenting a bit with being less dialogue-y, and some alternate characterizations for Blink and Mush, so I wasn't too confident in it. But I'm really glad people liked it.]

[Many thanks to Saturday, Shimmerwings, Harmony, Geometrygal, Parkranger, V-channy-chan, Thistle, Emme3, Aura, Erin Go Bragh, and TSB for reviewing.]


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